A Memory of Christmas Past
by Artistic-Resonance
Summary: It's Christmastime in the great British Isles, but a certain Scot is scrambling to do right on behalf of his youngest sibling, Arthur, after ruining the surprise of the present Arthur worked so hard to make for him. How will he make it up to his baby brother, and will they make up by the time Christmas morn' rolls around? K for minor cursing.


**Merry (late) Christmas! I was going to post this sooner, but some family issues arose before I got the chance to finish it. I hope that you enjoy my attempt at a Kirkland Christmas!**

 **~Meg**

* * *

Allistor was awake all night on the night of Christmas Eve. The damn man had forgotten to get his youngest brother, Arthur, a Christmas present. Usually it was something small, as they had celebrated too many Christmases to count (roughly 1419 of them, if anyone was keeping track). But this year, he wanted to get his brother something more special. Why, you ask?

This year, his littlest brother had gotten him a wonderful gift, and he ruined the whole damn surprise.

His other brothers, Connor and Dylan, had ruined the surprise for him, really. Supposedly, the present that Arthur had gotten for him was actually handmade. Dylan mentioned in a passive way while making dinner that Arthur had been in his room working on a scrapbook, and Connor opened his whiskey-chugging piehole. The Irishman blurted out that Artie had been pasting in old photos of himself and their eldest brother!

Naturally, Allistor couldn't resist taking a peek.

The redhead sauntered his way into his little brother's room while he was out and about, and casually began poking around. The room was quite antiquish, as one would expect; old photos hung on the wall, some maps, and typical 'Arthuresque' items strewn about, like tea cups on the desk, fountain pens next to ink wells, and a bedspread decorated with pastel flowers. Allistor could only tsk a bit, as he was amused by the fragile and gentlemanly nature of the young one— it reminded him quite fondly of their mother.

He continued on his little excursion throughout the room, nosing about while being careful not to rummage anything too much, as Arthur would probably notice if items were shuffled. He did see scraps of photo paper in the garbage can by his desk, and his emerald green eyes followed a trail of paper clippings and frayed strings to a book that was sitting under a few others on the desk; Arthur's half-ass way of hiding it, of course.

Allistor thought to himself for a moment, looking at the binding of the album. Soft leather wrapped itself around the spine, and what seemed to be Celtic knots were wound across the surface and impressed into the material. Should he open it? The Scot wondered this as he ran his finger across the smooth texture, almost able to smell the fresh leather's scent from where he stood. It wouldn't hurt to take a peek, now would it? Surely Arthur wouldn't notice, nor would it ruin the whole surprise… right?

After pushing the few stacked fiction novels off of the album, he picked it up as carefully as he would a delicate flower, examining the cover, which was leather, just like the binding. On the front, however, a Celtic symbol was burned into the material, which was the infinite loop of intertwining circles. After admiring the artwork, he opened it up to the inner page, seeing now that there were words inscribed upon the manila-coloured paper.

 _To my dearest brother, whom I have been tied together with all of my life by blood, but stayed with by choice. You have been there for me almost my whole life, and wherever life has taken me, you've been there watching over me. Nothing can repay my gratitude in full, but I hope this is a start._ Nollaig chridheil _, Alba._

 _With love,_

 _Albion._

Allistor already felt damn tears welling up in his eyes, for he always had a soft spot for his brother in his heart. When Arthur was a lad, it only took him falling to his bottom and letting his eyes well up for Allistor to rush to his side. The Scotsman always loved being a big brother to each of his siblings, but he'd always baby Arthur a bit, mostly because he still saw him as a wee bairn that couldn't protect himself.

Funny, now that that little brother had conquered half of the world at one point, including his own flesh and blood.

He began to look through the album, but just as he was looking at the first page, the door to Arthur's room swung open, and he froze up immediately. Silently, the man just prayed that it wasn't his little brother. But, as luck would have it, of course it was the youngest Kirkland.

When Allistor glanced upwards, he was met with the vexed gaze he was afraid of seeing. However, within those grassy green eyes he saw a flicker of hurt, which he'd not seen in quite some time, and it made his stomach churn.

When Arthur spoke, he sounded as though he had no breath in his lungs, a quiet reply forming that was laced with confusion. "W-What do you think you're doing?"

Allistor felt like he'd been punched straight in the gut when he heard that disappointed tone in his baby brother's voice, and immediately tried to explain. "A-Ah was just… Ah was… um… Dylan told me that… Connor said that…"

"Dylan told you what? Connor said what?" Arthur spat, storming over and snatching the album from Allistor's hands. "Get out, Allistor!"

"Artie, ah'm sorry—"

"If ye' were sorry then ya' wouldn't have done it in the first place!" His little brother was furious, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. "Ye canny even respect the fact that I went out of my way to do something nice for you, and you go and ruin the surprise! Get out! Get out!"

Allistor didn't hesitate in listening to his enraged brother, scrambling up and out of the room and to his own. After closing his door behind him, he took a deep breath, adrenaline rising in his blood and causing him to quiver. A few moments passed, and the fog in his head began to fade.

What had he just done?

Now that was what he was mulling over as he lie in his bed, staring at the ceiling with eyes greener than a vat of acid. He could hear the subtle hum of music downstairs, and after glancing at the clock and seeing that it was 23:00, Allistor decided to get out of bed. He knew that Arthur would be fast asleep now, as he liked to wake up early for peppermint tea on Christmas morning and liked his rest. This gave the Scot a bit of reassurance. After all, seeing his brother's disappointed eyes would crush his poor heart.

When he made his way down the stairs, the only light that he could see was that of the Christmas tree, the sparkling faerie lights sprinkling multi-coloured flecks upon the walls of the living room. Upon setting foot in the space, he realised that the hum of music was coming from Dylan, his eldest sibling. The lad was on a stool, decorating the tree with tinsel while caroling one of his Welsh Christmas songs, hazel eyes closed as he sang. Allistor felt a smile growing on his face as he watched his dirty-blonde haired brother, and he sat quietly in a chair to listen to his melody.

" _Holl amrantau'r sêr ddywedant_

 _Ar hyd y nos_

 _Dyma'r ffordd i fro gogoniant,_

 _Ar hyd y nos._

 _Golau arall yw tywyllwch_

 _I arddangos gwir brydferthwch_

 _Teulu'r nefoedd mewn tawelwch_

 _Ar hyd y nos."_

 **(A/N) This song is titled Nadolig Llawen**

Before he could begin the next chorus, Allistor coughed a bit, letting him know that he had company. The Welshman stiffened up a little bit, his cheeks growing slightly hot as he glanced at his brother and huffed. "A bit late for you to be up, isn't it?"

"Aye, but ah canny sleep knowin' ah made Arthur so upset. Ye' shoulda' seen the lad's face when he caught me…" He muttered, rubbing his face a bit and running his fingers up into his auburn hair. Dylan stepped down from the stool, coming over and patting his eldest brother's shoulder empathetically. "You know what, let's go on a walk. I think you could use it, you know? It'll help you clear your head."

"But ain't it cold out? And snowin'?"

"Oh, toughen up. It's only 10° or so. You'll be alright."

Allistor blew out some air in a small fit of annoyance before standing up, going to the closet to slip on his boots and throw on a coat. Dylan did so quite quickly, putting on a scarf around his neck and pulling it up a bit over his mouth. "Ye might want to do the same, Allie. Your face will get so cold that your freckles will fall off o' yer face."

"You've got freckles tae."

"Aye, but I've got on the scarf."

"...Can ye' stop bein' a smartass fir two damn seconds? Christ…"

After a few moments, the pair set out into the cold in the dead of night, snowflakes illuminated by the streetlights. For a long time, the only sound was that of their boots crunching in the newly fallen snow on the sidewalk. They were walking for quite a bit around the quiet town situated by Dover, which was on the very southeastern tip of England, closest to France. The brothers tended to come to this home for the winter months, as the the Dover Strait was especially lovely when it began freezing at the shore. Beauty during such a festive time lifted their old spirits, along with their ales and traditional foods.

"Want to go to a chippy?" Dylan inquired, trying to come up with something for them to do. Though Allistor was a tad peckish, it was not at the forefront of his mind. "Naw really. Too upset tae eat…" He replied, pausing and shoving his hands in his pockets as they came to a street corner. "... Ey, aren't we by Kent Downs?"

Dylan knew what his brother was referring to about that location, and nodded. "Aye, but it's late… do you really think we should…?"

"Ah'd like tae. It helps you think when you go there, and ah need tae do the same right now." He muttered, accent getting thicker as the cold bit as his nose.

The younger man sighed, nodding and beginning to walk towards the Kent Downs Park with his brother. Through the trees they went, following paths until there were no longer any. Most would question why these two were going out of their way to clamber through trees and snow, as it was quite odd. However, most of the brothers did this often, as at the end of the path lied an important part of them that no one else would understand.

As they came into a clearing far from the normal walking paths, they stumbled upon the sacred spot, giving a sigh of relief. At the centre of this clearing was a large structure made of stone, but it was hard to see in the dead of the night. Dylan made note of this, mumbling a spell under his breath and flicking his wrist. A small simper spread across his lips as light began to dance around his fingers, and after a moment, he whisked the petite lights with a swift hand motion, sending them skidding across the snow. It illuminated the object before them, revealing the old stone, which was weathered away by rain with moss crawling its way up the side.

The structure was an ancient tomb, belonging to their beloved mother. She was buried in the vast forest close to where she died, her middle sons having been the ones to bring her there after her passing near the Dover shores. The story was one to save for another day, for the pain still lingered in the hearts of the siblings, especially those who were old enough to remember her. Allistor stared at the tomb's stone, stepping forward and gingerly grazing the tips of his fingers along the curving swirls that were carved into the stone. He had done these carvings so long ago that he could barely remember doing so, needing something to keep his mind occupied while his baby brother was in the hands of the enemy that slaughtered their dear mother.

Dylan broke him out of his thoughts with a nudge. "Prayers, dear brother. Remember here we give our prayer before all else…"

"Aye, I remember." Allistor whispered. "To keep at least one thing about her alive."

Both of the brothers stood before the tomb and brought their hands before them, pressing their palms together and closing their eyes. For a few minutes, all that was heard between them were old Celtic chants, the language so old that no one besides the brothers could hope to understand. In fact, Allistor and Dylan were the only ones from the group of siblings that could do this, for Connor was not capable of words when they still spoke it at home, and Arthur was born long after they'd begun speaking languages of their own. But that was a story for another day.

After they were done, they opened their eyes, and Allistor gave a deep sigh. "I miss her, ya ken? She always knew what to say and do."

"Ydw, she did…" Dylan replied, his breath clouding in the cold air. "If she were here, what would you ask her?"

This made Allistor think long and hard. All he wanted was to take back what he did to his brother. He wanted to unsee what he saw in his room, he wanted to regain the element of surprise his baby brother had worked so hard to achieve… and hell, he wanted to give his brother something for Christmas that would help to make up for it.

"I'd ask her how to make it up to Arthur… how to be a better big brother…"

Dylan heard this and sighed. "You're a wonderful big brother, Allistor. Remember when you saved me from that wolf all of those years ago? You got your arm snapped just to save me. A bad big brother doesn't do that."

Despite the freezing cold that nipped at his freckled-cheeks, Allistor gave a smile and a wee chuckle. "What kind of brother leaves his baby brother for dead?"

"A bad one, which you are not."

Both of the brothers chuckled at this, and then Dylan's hazel eyes gazed up to the stars. He stared for a long moment, his eyes scanning the twinkling in the heavens. "Do you see the constellation of Orion tonight?"

Allistor's grassy-green eyes flicked upwards as well, and he nodded, looking for the constellation of the Greek hunter. "Nae, ah canny find it. All of the stars look the same."

Dylan scooted a bit closer, point upwards. "See that star? It connects to that one, then to the next, and so on. His belt is the main part, but there's also his sword, which is the lesser known part."

A gust of chilling wind blew through Allistor's hair as his gaze fell upon the constellation of the sword, and then an idea chimed into his head. "That's it…"  
Dylan seemed confused. "What's it? What are you on about?"

"The sword… Arthur… I-I gotta get home! Now!" He exclaimed suddenly, rushing up to the tomb and pressing a kiss to the stone hurriedly. "Thank you Ma'! Thank you!"

Dylan could only chuckle as well, pressing a kiss to the stone as well before rushing after his brother. "S-Slow down! Can you please explain what in the _hell_ you're getting so worked up about?!"

They made it out of the woods and onto the main path, and Allistor was still dashing as fast as he could, lungs filling with the crisp and cold air of winter. When he exhaled, he resembled a train chugging out its steam while working full force to go forwards. "Y-You'll see!"

By the time the Scot and Welshman reached home, their cheeks were raw and red from the cold air, catching their breath as they arrived back at the house around midnight. Allistor rushed to get his coat and boots off, then hurried up to his room before closing the door and getting to work on his baby brother's Christmas gift. Dylan, meanwhile, left him to his devices, far too tired to go out of his way to poke around his brother's room.

Allistor never let his head hit the pillow that night. When he got into his room, he pulled out a heavy trunk from under his bed, brushing off some of the dust before swinging the latches upwards and throwing open the lid. Oh so carefully, he picked up the object within, which was cushioned with soft velvet to protect it from getting damaged. It was long and sharp, yet older than he himself, earning it a right to be in a museum.

The thing he held was his mother's sword, which only the elder brothers knew he had. When his mother died, it was passed onto him. However, the only problem was that Allistor's skill was with a bow, not with a sword, so it was never really used again. A shame, really, considering that it had belonged to the greatest sword-fighter the world had ever seen. He took great care throughout the wee hours of the night to polish the sword up and sharpen its edges before wrapping it up in a long box.

The sun began to shine, rising from the Orient to greet the citizens of the British Isles. It warmed the glistening snow upon the shores, and gleamed along the ice that had crystallised in the Dover Strait's waters. Allistor awoke at dawn, and brought down his gift to put it under the tree that Dylan seemed to have finished decorating. He sat back for a moment, looking at the gifts beneath the tree, and spotted Arthur's to him. He still decided to give it to him, even after what he had done?

"Don't go opening your present early, jackass."

Allistor looked over his shoulder to see Arthur standing in the kitchen doorway, robe on and a cup of coffee warming both of his palms. The elder brother decided to try to lighten the mood a bit, seeing as Arthur's darkened jade gaze was anything but happy.

"Ah won't… so… ye' make yer coffee Irish this mornin'?"

"Har har har, very amusing." The Englishman sneered a tad, sipping from the cup in his hands. "If you want some coffee it's in the pot on the counter."

"Naw, ah'm good." Allistor murmured. "H-Hey, would ya' like tae open your present now, Artie?"

The younger one looked at his brother, his features softening a bit into a questioning look. "B-But the others aren't up yet, Allie."

"Come on, just open it." Allistor smiled softly. "I'm sure they won't mind."

"Well… alright…" The younger one murmured, setting down his coffee and sitting next to his brother by the tree. Allie carefully picked up the box, handing it to his brother. "Merry Christmas, wee brother."

The blonde ran his hands over the long box for a moment, and Allistor watched as he carefully unwrapped it and took the lid off. His green eyes widened in disbelief, and the orbs began brimming with tears. "I-Is this…?"

"Mum's sword? Aye." Allistor murmured. "Honestly, ye' shoulda' gotten it in the first place. Ah'm naw as good wi' a sword as ye'; ah'm better with a bow and arrow. Ma' passed it onto me when she died because ah was the eldest, but now I think that you should have it."

"A-Allistor… I-I… I can't accept this…" He breathed out, voice barely above a whisper. "It belongs to you… how can I accept it when I don't even remember what our mum looks like?" Arthur sniffled, keeping his head down to hide the tears, only making Allistor grow a smile.

"Ye wanna know what she looked like?" Allie murmured to him, only receiving a nod in reply. "Well, you look like her, but as a boy. She had long and flowing blonde hair that reached down to her waist… green eyes that were more vibrant than all of ours… her face even looked just like yours, but more… feminine, you know? Thinner neck, longer eyelashes, feminine lips, high cheekbones with freckles like ours… she was really beautiful, Arthur. Really, ya' look so much like her that it freaks me oot sometimes."

His brother listened carefully, holding the sword and seeming to be trying to picture their mother in his head. "She sounds lovely. I miss her…"

"We all do, lad…" Allistor sighed. "But be sure to take good care of that sword. It's older than you and I combined, pretty much."

The Englishman chuckled, thanking his brother for the gift. "Ye' can open yours, if you want."

"Really? Even after yesterday?"

"Just open it before I change my mind and rip it apart, Allie."

Allistor chuckled heartily, picking up the box that his present was in and unwrapping it cautiously. It was still the same old album that he had seen before, but now he actually got to look in it!

As he flipped through the pages, he felt his heart swelling in his chest. Within this album, Arthur had placed pictures upon the pages, and they were solely of him and Allistor. The old Scot felt his eyes getting misty seeing the old pictures, taken from the day cameras were invented to the present. They were mostly photos while they were at meetings, but some were taken by the other brothers. His favourite in the whole album was a photo of them dressed in kilts, Arthur looking quite shy and trying to tug the garment down so his knees wouldn't show. He gave an inward chuckle, pointing at the photo. "Yer so funny, kilts aren't supposed tae go down any farther."

Arthur's cheeks puffed up, and he huffed stubbornly. "O-Oi! Shut up!"

The rest of Christmas morning was spent with the both of them reminiscing over photos, bringing Allistor great joy.

Oh, how he adored his wee brother and all of his stubbornness.


End file.
